


Not Tonight

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “He’s soaked with sveat,” he heard Otto whisper from beside him, and then he felt Otto’s fingers touch against his back: they were mercifully cool, and he shuddered. “Villiam?”"William?" Sacharissa repeated.“I’m awake,” William said hoarsely.





	Not Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vamillepudding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/gifts).



> I was looking through the prompts on the hurt/comfort exchange, and I noticed the singular Discworld request, so!! I just did a little fill, haha, very much on the unofficial level, as I forgot to sign up for the exchange. Still, hope it pleases!! <3

The nightmare started the way it usually did.

William was standing on the threadbare carpet in his father’s office, his hands clenched into his fists and pressed tight against his thighs, and he was bending forward slightly. He couldn’t move. His feet were nailed to the spot, and he was breathing heavily, unable not to. He still had his shirt on – he always used to have his shirt on.

Even when they drew blood, he had his shirt on, and when it ripped under the whip, it’d stick to the bloody spots, and he’d have to try to drag it off when he was alone before it could congeal, so that the wounds didn’t scab with cloth still in them.

And his father would talk, and talk, and the words wouldn’t matter, but the coldness in his tone would seep right into William’s bones… And then the beating would start.

Lord de Worde would never do it himself: he never had done, when William had been a boy. Never.

But this time, this time, the beating went on, long after Lord de Worde had stopped talking, and he was right in front of William instead of looking out of the window, staring into his eyes, his face hard, his gaze sharp—

“He’s soaked with sveat,” he heard Otto whisper from beside him, and then he felt Otto’s fingers touch against his back: they were mercifully cool, and he shuddered. “Villiam?”

"William?" Sacharissa repeated. 

“I’m awake,” William said hoarsely.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Sacharissa murmured, and her hand touched against the side of William’s cheek as he sat up. The room was almost entirely dark, except for a sliver of wan moonlight that eked its way through a gap in the drawn curtains, and the light gave the room an eerie quality, like one of Otto’s black and white iconographs.

“I woke you?” William asked.

“You screamed,” Sacharissa said softly, cupping his cheeks, and William felt Otto come up behind him, his cool chest pressing against William’s back.

 _Hiding the scars_ , William thought, but that wasn’t true: they were in darkness, and Otto wasn’t going to look at them anyway, they never dwelled too much on William’s scars, neither of them. Sacharissa had traced one, once, the first time they’d been in bed together. Otto had interlinked his fingers with hers, and gently drawn her hand away, replacing it in William’s hair instead, and he’d kissed her as Otto kissed his shoulder…

“Sorry,” William said.

“You needn’t be sorry,” Otto murmured against the back of his neck, pressing a kiss there.

“Was it your father?” Sacharissa asked, taking up William’s hands and holding them in hers. It was warm in their bedroom, and William could feel how cold Otto was in contrast, feel the sweat chilling his skin.

“No,” William said. “Yes. Not the… It was my father, in the dream.”

“But he vasn’t the one hitting you,” Otto murmured, and William nodded.

In the darkness, he saw Sacharissa’s face, half-silhouetted in stark moonlight, harden. Her eyes had a sort of glint in them, a glint of justice, and anger… He loved that look in her eyes, but now, he just felt tired, and he brought her hands up to his mouth, kissing each one of her knuckles as Otto adjusted his grip, winding his arms around William’s waist.

“His men would do it,” William said. “He had men for that.”

“But,” Sacharissa said, “but they… It looked like you bled.”

“I did,” William said.

“They cut you?”

“Vhen you use a vhip, or a strap,” Otto said, because William’s tongue wasn’t working, was cold and useless as a corpse on the bed of his mouth, wouldn’t _move_ , “if you hit hard enough, the skin… splits. Gives vay on each side. So you have the square line, and then the scars on either side.”

Sacharissa’s eyes were shining when William looked up from her hands.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, _oh_ , William—”

She kissed him, softly, and then she dragged closer, throwing her arms around William and Otto both. She didn’t cry, usually. Sensible girls didn’t do that, but her eyes were wet now, and William felt a tear drop down onto his bare shoulder.

“I oughtn’t be— I’m sorry,” she said. “I oughtn’t be so upset. They’re your scars.”

“But you love him,” Otto murmured, “and _I_ love him… He loves us. Ve each share our pain, no? Ve share it… Take the veight from one shoulder,” Otto kissed it, and then moved, to kiss the other one, “and shares it with the other.”

“I don’t mind,” William murmured, slinging one arm around Sacharissa’s waist, the other reaching back to grasp at Otto. “Don’t— Don’t let me go.”

His voice sounded small in the dark room.

“We won’t,” Sacharissa said immediately.

“Never,” Otto agreed, and he leaned to the side, pulling Sacharissa and William with him down onto the bed. William curled into Sacharissa’s shoulder, feeling Otto nuzzle against his back, pressing kisses between his shoulders. “Villiam, you hear us? Never.”

“ _Never_ ,” Sacharissa said.

William swallowed.

His tongue wouldn’t work, once again, it was _failing_ him, and he couldn’t—

“Don’t vorry,” Otto said. “You don’t have to say anything. You vant us to talk, hm, so you can go back to sleep?”

“Yes,” William said.

“Alright,” Sacharissa murmured, and he felt her fingers playing gentle circles over his thigh… No, not circles. She was tracing the alphabet there, one letter after the other, and it made him smile – albeit wanly – in the darkness. “Alright, we’ll talk, we’ll talk… I was thinking of buying a new travelling dress, because—”

“Because you alvays want more dresses,” Otto said sweetly, even as he dragged the blanket back over them. He didn’t need it, but he knew that William and Sacharissa did, and William’s smile deepened.

“Not _alvays_ ,” Sacharissa said. “I mean, _always_. Not always.”

“Not alvays?”

“No.”

“Not even if I took you out for new dresses right now, many dresses, you vould say no?”

“I would not say no, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I think it does mean that, actually, Sacharissa.”

“ _No_. I’ll make _you_ wear a dress, Otto.”

“Make me? Who says you are _makink_ me vear a dress, please? I shall vear a dress vhen I vish to.”

“Would you?”

“Vhy not?”

“Oh, _Otto_ …” William closed his eyes, let their chatter go on over his head, felt himself… relax. He wouldn’t have nightmares like this, sandwiched between them, not like this. Maybe not _never_ , but—

Not tonight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


End file.
